So This is Where The End Begins
by Trashoh
Summary: Mita Renno is a Tribute in the 35th Hunger Games. From a 7 year old sister to a dying mother, they are not rich. She is a nobody, an absolute nobody. Worthless, useless, not liked, a dreg in society. She'd wanted to be known, but not in this way.
1. Hot Milk

**Mita Renno**

**District 5 Female**

* * *

She was a nobody.

An outcast, a loner, the one that no one wanted to be partners with in group studying, a loser.

She didn't belong.

There was a mother and two daughters in that family. And the one, the nobody, she had waken up as soon as she could, to the sound of a cat's meow and a dog's early howl. It was a daily routine. She'd wake up to those particular sounds, as if to signal another day in the life of no one, and she'd take her two hands, dirt covered and slender, and wipe the two balls of eye wax from her tear ducts. And then she'd let out a small yawn, a tiny small yawn that brought her back to her childhood. To the days where she would play with red and yellow and green plastic balls and clap her hands together and giggle loudly. Those were the times where she was actually someone; something. Actually something worth looking at, worth stopping and telling the mother of that she was adorable, that her little blonde tufts of hair and blue eyes that stared back at you was enough to make one want to have a child of their own. But things were different, and her blonde hair was now a dirty brown, matted near the hairlines and practically incapable of brushing. But after she'd wipe away the wax, she'd commence to sitting up on her tattered mattress, passed down for some 6 generations, and slide out of the bed, swaying back and forth as sleep still tapped on her mind. Every little movement made a creak on that bed, but never would that family get rid of that bed. No, not after everything it'd went through. The fires, the floods, the threats and the bribery. Even through the toughest of times, that bed remained.

And then one of her feet took a step forward, the next one sure to follow, before her hand pulled the door without the handle open. The door was a solid oak color, smooth on the hand but not polished or stained. Where a handle should've been was an empty gap, a hole situated on the right side of the door, allowing whoever wanted to pass through to come and go as they pleased. She had little to no privacy in her room, even if it was covered in a layer of dirt and the only real valuable thing that was in it was a bed, in which she was usually sitting or sleeping on. A small string of dust landed on her head as the door swung open, reflexively being swept off by a dirty palm.

Sitting on a small table outside of her room was a red ceramic mug of hot milk, on a red ceramic saucer with 2 perfect sugar cubes warming next to the steaming white liquid. With the smell emanating away from itself, the fumes occasionally reached her nose, sending pangs of goosebumps and twitching fingers. The nobody knew better than to grab it as soon as possible, for the handle was probably still hot and she'd not be getting anymore. But initially, she was shocked, for the nobody usually did not get anything special for her birthday even, let alone an ordinary day like it w- No. It was the day of the Reaping. However, this did not make up for the milk. The family was part of the poverties in the District, and although they were the ones to do the milking for the District, the Peacekeepers decided had concluded that the only thing worth having to wash down the dry bread and spoiled meat was water. It was a pleasant thing though, truly, that she was seen as significant enough to be given a gift, as this was only her 3rd Reaping for her to be eligible for and only one tesserae had been bought. With all the others in the District, all the other thousands of teenagers and children that were to be in the massive glass bowl holding all of the names, the nobody had been seen as a somebody enough to be given a glass of milk.

Sleepily, she wandered into the room that served as all a kitchen, a bathrrom, and a family room. Slowly, her drowsiness began to diminish, and the realization and significance of the day finally began to set in. There would be no work, no sweat and no complaints. There'd be no early waking unless necessary, for avoiding the Reaping and dressing up would be what would act upon.

"The milk's hot, wait a minute," she heard her mom say. Conversation between the nobody and her mother was always short and formal in replies. Though they had little money, she'd been raised on formality and proper manners, as the mother came from a rich family and being slouchy was not looked up to.

"Yes ma'am. I knew beforehand that the milk was to be hot, seeing as it was steaming, but I cannot help but to almost be brought to tears with the thankfulness that I have to express to you mother. How is that you've come about even acquiring it, let alone the sugar?" she replied.

Her mother sat a round table, sipping at her own warm milk, though in a pastel green mug rather than the red one that was on the table next to the nobody's room.

Suddenly, a loud squeak ran throughout the poorly constructed house, making the nobody's mom and the nobody herself have wide eyes, though the hot milk spilled onto the mom's robe, causing there to be a hiss to go with the shriek. Coming out of the hallway was a small, blonde haired girl with a bottom lip being bitten by the upper teeth. Her name was Chryll, a sister of the nobody, and unlike her, she actually had friends.

"Mom! That milk is hot! Did you not feel the need to tell me?" she asked, not near as formal as her worthless companion's reply.

"How should I have alerted you? You were sleeping, I couldn't just have awaken you just to tell you of the Reaping and the temperature of the milk!"

"Yes, mother! You could have! A note, perhaps?"

"We've no paper nor anything to write with, Chryll."

"Well maybe you should've woke me up then! It wouldn't have been that bad. I mean, if it weren't for you two talking, I would still be asleep right now!"

The nobody wore nothing special; a black dress with a white ribbon wrapped around her waist. Her brown hair was only in a ponytail, and she looked evermore worthless standing next to the richer of those in District 5. Standing in the pit of 14 year olds, she stood near the front, seeing as she were closer to the District Square and they had left early. Her throat still warm from the sweet and warm milk that she'd finally gotten around to drinking just before they'd left out for the Square.

The mayor, a hefty man with the most formal of tuxedos on, began on the microphone, though none of the speech entered through the girl's ears. Was there really any point in listening? This had been happening for over 30 years now, the Treaty of Treason being read and then the peppy escort reading off the names. Out of the 34 Games that had been held, only one person from District 5 had survived, and that person's name was Thread. He had long black hair that was never found on his back, being split into two halves always resting in front of his shoulders or in a ponytail. Even in the Arena, he'd wrapped his hair up in a vine before eventually cutting it off with the knife he'd gotten from a dead Tribute at the Bloodbath. He'd be the mentor of whoever was Reaped, and the more the nobody thought of it, the more she felt that she'd be spending the majority of her time in the future with the man named Thread.

When the blue skinned, purple eyed male of the Capitol with the name of Pep walked out onto the stage, not a soul in the whole Square made noise. No one liked him, with his short blonde hair. His voice was deeper than one would expect, and everybody in the District that had ever heard him or seen him had their own theories as to why the voice didn't match his appearance.

"Hello, everyone! Still sleepy, are we?"

A pause.

"Never mind that! Shall we begin? I believe that by now you all know what I'm here for, and we'll start out with boys."

And one more pause.

As his arm reached into the blue tinted glass ball of the boys' names and pulled out one.

"Whisk Clawn? Whisk Clawn! Yes. Please, come onto the stage? Yes. Do that!"

A boy in a simple brown t-shirt and black dress pants walked onto the stage. His face was emotionless.

"And so now I ask if there are any volunteers?"

And no one liberated him.

"Moving on then! The girls' names." He reached into the bucket, which was tinted pink, and pulled out a name. "Mita Renno! Come stand beside your new District partner!"

And so the nobody, who's name was Mita Renno, moved on to the stage.

She told Pep that there was no use in asking for volunteers, because no one had even heard of her.


	2. Savage

**Whisk Clawn**

**District 5 Male**

* * *

She was a nobody, but he wasn't.

He was the type of person that people liked, that peopled laughed around, that friends would tell their secrets to because they knew that they'd be safe.

He was known.

And even though no one felt the need to save him from his certain death, he knew that they were sad. That what had happened was not supposed to. It was supposed to be a nobody! Like the girl that was Reaped! Pep hadn't even asked for volunteers because she'd even said it herself. No one knew her, so why would she be saved? Especially when someone like _Whisk Clawn_ wasn't even rescued. He knew that he'd not survive, but what he also knew is that he wouldn't give up. People liked him, people looked up to him. Even if he were only 15, people still looked at him as if he were an elder. Like he had all the knowledge in the world and like he'd never hurt anyone. And that was the truth.

At least it _was_.

He realized as soon as his foot stepped on to the Tribute Train that he'd have to rip down the wall, the exterior personality, that people loved. He was savage on the inside, but he'd never let anyone see it. He'd tear people apart and feed them to dogs if need be. This district partner of his was just another person that looked up to him. He'd not care about her at all in days to come. He'd thought about it before, actually, his strategy for the Games. It was only at the time that he stepped on the train did he actually start basing his actions off of it.

He was not to smile while with his district partner.

He was not to get attached to _anything._

He was to takes risks and not think too much.

He was not to let anyone stop him from doing what he wanted to do.

He was not to allow himself to have actions influenced by anyone other than his mentor.

Those five things would be either his fate or his survival.

The thoughts of what lied ahead ran through his brain as his thumbs twiddled. The red leather couch that he sat on was enveloping, almost dragging him into a slumber. He would occasionally drift off, only to be woken up by the occasional bump of the train. They were moving so fast, like lightning, that he assumed that it'd take less than an hour to get to the Capitol, although in reality he'd not be there until the next day, or so Pep had told him.

Slowly, he'd adjusted to his new surroundings, though Mita, the nobody, still sat trembling. Thread, the mentor, both leaned on and stared out of the window. He'd always been quiet, and when he spoke, it was something to be heard. His brown hair laid in front of his shoulders, and he'd occasionally run his fingers behind his ear, as if he were a girl. His eyes were a deep green, just like Whisk's, and although they weren't as piercing as the current Tribute's, his eyes carried an edginess to them, moving quicker and sharper than most. It was merely a side effect from the Games; a permanent thing that'd stuck with him. While he was in the Arena, there'd been things happening to him each day, as if the Capitol had made the Games just so Thread could die, but he did not. He survived.

Whisk, who had stood up and went to his sleeping quarters, stared into the mirror. He practiced faces, as if to signal what type of persona he'd take on during his interview. But the savage self that he'd told himself that he'd be was the only thing that registered as presentable in front of the Capitol. Not only the Capitol, but the _faces of Panem._ His elbows suddenly jabbed into his side as Pep slammed on the door to his bathroom. He'd been startled.

"Dinner time! Come get it! You will _not_ want to miss out," Pep had said.

"Of course not. With how _wonderful_ it'll be," replied Whisk with an edge of sarcasm.

As he walked out of the door, Pep seemed to be waiting for him, but Whisk did not care. He only continued onward, until he reached the dining car. Thread sat at one side, Mita sat at another, Whisk sat down across from Mita and Pep filled the seat across from Thread. In the middle of the table was a large type of bird, the kind that only the richest of rich could afford in District 5. Thread had already eaten some, as small strings of the meat were left on his plate, but Mita stared at the bird. Whisk, who didn't want to be seen as hungry, sliced only a small piece of meat off of the side and put it on the center of the plate. Pep. however. took a full drumstick and slopped it onto his plate, soon prior to ladling a brown gravy over it. "You three are crazy! All of this food and it seems as if you want none of it! Mita! Poor Mita! You look as thin as a stick, and yet you've not even made the first move to get any, and Whisk, a muscular boy like you _must _want more than a simple chunk!"

Thread lifted his head and stared into Pep. "Let them do what they want. If they don't want any, let them be. It's their loss." He glanced at both Mita and Whisk, who both had furrowed brows.

"How true you are, Thread. I've just been captivated by what's in front of me. Never have I even seen such a thing, let alone have the opportunity to eat it," replied Mita, who then took a carving knife and sliced off two very large chunks of meat.

It was Whisk that decided that it wasn't worth delving into. It was only the first day, and he needed to get used to a lack of food.

"Sure, my loss."

* * *

**Sorry about the length! I just needed to get it up. I think Whisk deserved to have his personality explored, and so it was. I planned for more interaction, but he was being stubborn and this was all that managed.**

**Chapter 3 should be up soon! **


	3. Naked Feathers

**Mita Renno**

**District 5 Female**

* * *

Usually, Mita would politely remain quiet. She would sit with her hands in her lap and make slight facial expressions to show her thoughts on certain things. She would, normally, stare out of the window, not press her head against it with her hands being adjacently plastered as she had. The mere sight of the Capitol was enough to make one feel like they'd never lived, but to someone that had had such a rough life as Mita Renno, it was as if she was in another dimension. The way the buildings shimmered in the sunlight, the rainbow of colors that covered the staring Capitolites, it was all so captivating, so surreal. She couldn't help but to think that she would have never seen anything like it if it weren't for being Reaped. Death would come for her anyway, right? If it was already a given, than why procrastinate? Procrastination was seen as a harsh quality to the world.

Before her arrival and after that first dinner, they'd sat down to watch the Reapings. As usual, Whisk had blockaded himself from the others. From the beginning, the only person that Whisk seemed the list bit interested in was Thread, and even then, when he would say something, it would be very short and detached; staccato. One district by another, Mita learned the names of the other Tributes. Pep, who had obviously previously viewed them, would shout things like, "Oh! Oh! You'll like this next one! I've already been told by tons in the Capitol that they're the already the favorites!" When he'd said that, he was speaking of the District Four duo. A brother and sister combination, the brother being Reaped, the sister volunteering out of desperation. For once, they didn't seem like a mere career duo; they looked like, they _were, _something more. The duo intrigued Mita, though it mainly made her pity herself more than she usually did. She wished she could have had a similar story. A brother, or even a sister, one that was actually within Reaping age could be her liberation. It could be her lifeline. One of the negative traits for Mita, though, was only focusing on one thing at a time. She didn't think ahead to the actual Games, to see her liberator die, and to think that she thought it was good to be volunteered for. She knew, though, deep down, that there'd be nothing like that to ever happen. Hell, even her smaller 9 year old sister Chryll didn't think much of her. Chryll only saw her as a person living in her house. She didn't have any sort of connection, no sort of friendship, just the occasional back-and-forth they would have when there was nothing to do or nothing to say. If there were to be one friend to Mita, per say, she'd agree that it was a cat. A brown cat with a bad case of mange. She'd name him Tim, a simple name that she saw as fitting. She'd met Tim at the age of 8, and even through all of the drama that the family had been through, the cat remained. Just as that bed had.

The train came to a stop. Mita's body jolted forward as the speed of the train- which was still rather quick, even while slowing- came to an abrupt halt. "Have we arrived already?" she asked. Normally she'd remain quiet, but this whole experience had triggered a series of nerves that she'd never had before. Like the Capitol, like The Hunger Games themselves actually were going to be for the better. After all, she had always wanted to be known, and if the Capitol had already made her this way, she couldn't imagine of what the Training Center could do; she couldn't conjure an image in her mind as to what she'd be like when she'd meet her team of stylists.

"Yes, we've arrived already," Pep replied. "And we're running on a tight schedule, so no time for loitering! You'll be escorted into the Tribute Quarters and you'll meet your team of stylists. Do what they say, yes?"

Even Whisk nodded his head. Mita couldn't help but to look at him more than necessary; it'd been a while since she'd been around a boy, let alone one attractive and her age. His eyes, those green eyes, they could see things- they could figure out things-, that Mita would never think of in a million years. They'd said nothing to each other since they'd been reaped, and although Whisk had looked at Mita, they'd only shared one look at each other the whole trip, and that was at the dinner table. Which, of course, was to be expected, since they were sitting across from each other and it'd be hard to avoid looking at one another.

Thread walked slowly behind Pep, who walked behind Mita, who walked behind Whisk. It was easy to know where they were to be going, with the bright flashing lights that would temporarily blind one of them with each click of a camera. Pep seemed to be the only one who cared about being photographed, though. "Oh! Please! No photographs! My hair is a _mess_!" he'd yelled, when in reality, he looked no different than he had the past half-decade of being the District Five escort.

A glass door opened as Whisk stepped on a black, rubber platform, and the sweet smell of flowers quickly filled each of their noses. A male, with subtle yellow specks on his black shirt, grabbed Whisk by the hand and dragged him off to somewhere else.

"Whi-" Mita began.

"Don't worry, Mita. He's only being taken off to the room where he'll be prepared for the Opening Ceremonies, here's yours, probably." It was one of the rare times that Thread had spoken. For a Mentor, he was very quiet.

A large lady, with a red wig that flipped out at the bottom- or perhaps it was her real hair (you could never tell when it came to the Capitol)-, hurriedly rushed toward Mita, wiping her forehead as she went. "Mita! You? Oh! So late. Why'd it take you so long? We've only around 15 minutes, and that includes _everything_. We can't be late! Opening Ceremonies!" She took Mita by the hand and pulled her off towards the direction that Whisk was taken.

* * *

**Zeus Stattelman**

**District 6 Male**

He was fair haired. It was shaggy, it hung in front of his eyes, it was a bother, some times, but he liked it.

If only he still had it.

They'd cut if all off. Or at least the majority. He only looked like a normal, District 6 boy without all of his hair, and he didn't like being normal. Sure, he looked the most attractive than he ever had, but he looked _normal._ He looked normal even amongst all of his prep team: the fat-ass girl who wouldn't stop gossiping about the latest singers and actors and superstars of the Capitol that Zeus had no interest in, the black haired man with green lips and green eyes and green clothes, the head stylist, with the name of Oscrinia, that had made Zeus strip and have every hair on his body removed. Zeus was 16 and quite proud of the hair that he had, it showed a sign of masculinity, but in the eyes of the Capitol, if there was hair anywhere except for your head, you were deemed unattractive. Or, at least, that's what Oscrinia had said as he'd put Zeus in the bath of whatever it was that made the hair easier to remove and less painful.

Now, he stood on the chariot, stark naked, with two pairs of gigantic wings plastered on his back. Athena, who was his District Partner and who had already offered an alliance (Zeus had said no, although his first instinct was to accept it), stood just as naked as Zeus, with a browner shade of the same grey wings that Zeus had on. Seeing as District 6 worked hard into aerodynamics and medicines and were basically the brains of the Districts, the stylists had put wings on them, to symbolize the aerodynamics that takes place in flight. They were motorized, Oscrinia had said to Zeus, and when the ceremonies would actually begin, the wings would slowly move back and forth.

He just wanted them to be over.

"Can we get this shit started already? What's taking so long?"

Little did he know, it was Mita Renno, who he'd already seen as beautiful.

* * *

**Reviews! Review review review! I'm needing to get ideas for alliances right about now, etc. so I'm going to open up 4 Tribute slots. The rest are filled. Districts are 3, 9, 11, and 12. **

**If you want to submit one, please include:**

** - Name**

** - Age**

** - District **

** - Persona**

** - Personality [a paragraph, please?]**

** - Appearance [once more, a paragraph] **

** - The next to last word of the second paragraph of this chapter. **

**BYE! **

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! **


	4. Death by Rock

**So, I lost muse for this Fic, because I didn't want to write out the Ceremonies and interviews and whatnot, so what I'm going to do is go ahead and start the Games, but mention the ceremonies and stuff, in case you guys actually care. **

* * *

**Mita Renno**

**District 5 Female**

* * *

She truly was not scared.

The Capitol had made her lose her fear and her nerves, the Capitol had made her someone that she wasn't.

And even though she did not want to go into the Arena, she was not scared.

She had told herself some things:

She would not try to kill unless it was necessary.

She would not give up. Ever.

She would see pain as mental and not physical, so she could overcome all of it.

She did not want to go into the Arena.

But no, she was not scared.

The uniform for the Arena was very simple, yet the colors and the fabrics as they wrapped around her body made them more than they actually were. She wondered what Zeus would think of them. Knowing him, he would say that it was comfortable, that they were useful, just because he would say whatever he had to say to make Mita happy. Mita did not know that Zeus Stattelman liked her, or at least, had an interest in her, as Mita had never been liked. It was a weird thing to even think of being in a relationship to Mita, for all of her life she'd sat back and saw others around her District holding hands and giggling and laughing with each other, and she'd just sit back with her forehead in her palm and tell herself that she'd never be in that type of situation. She would never have someone to go and talk to when something was bugging her, she would never have anyone to look at without smiling, she would never have anyone to tell, "I love you," too. Mita had planned her life to be alone. And perhaps that was one of the reasons why the thought of killing 23 others was not scary to her.

The red shirt that she wore was revealed in a vertical stripe running down the front of her body, the rest being concealed by a jacket that had no way of closing up. There was no zipper, no Velcro, no buttons. Black pants were worn as well, a loose fabric that tickled the sides of her knees as she paced in the holding chamber. Her stylist, the lady with red hair, whom she'd came to known as Redde, flipped pages in a magazine, glasses with red trim hung on her nose, as if to only be an accessory and something that didn't aid her vision. The sight irritated Mita, actually. How could someone that seemed to be a friend to Mita be so nonchalant when Mita was being sent to her deathbed? During the ceremonies, when they'd barely arrived there on time, they'd nearly fell down on the ground from laughter with as Mita squeaked when her hair was plastered down to her head.

"Have you decided to seclude yourself from me?" Mita asked, the formality in her voice still imminent. It was one thing that she'd kept with her from home. It was like her token. Others had necklaces, watches, rocks, squares of cloth, things like that, but for Mita, it was her voice. Her way of speaking. The way it never seemed to sound wrong, the way the inflections and decrescendos made everyone understand exactly what she was saying.

Redde dropped the magazine off to the side of the black couch that she sat on and removed her glasses. She took her hand and rubbed the back of her hand before sighing and starting in, "Have I secluded myself from you? No. I'm trembling and on the verge of tears behind that little book right there." A notion towards the magazine. "Being a stylist is a bad job. You get attached to your Tribute, and then they leave you and you never see them again. I've learned from experience that acting like yourself around them is a bad thing, because then you actually begin to like them and grow to the point where you want to be around them more. I'm not secluding you, I'm helping you. If, perhaps, you liked me, was my friend, then you getting mad would've helped you, it would've made you fought harder."

And it was the truth. What was Mita supposed to say to that? There was no small talk leading up to that or anything, Redde had simply said what she needed to. In fact, she probably wasn't supposed to say that, it was probably a rule of the Capitol. It was probably something that was a restriction to the Stylists. Maybe the Stylists were picked by how likable they were, so the Tributes would be friends with them so their stay in the arena was as bad as it could be.

"And now you need to go," Redde said.

And Mita, the thoughts of what Redde had said still burning at the front of her mind, stepped onto the metal plate, glass sliding down and encasing her. Somehow, they both smiled at each other. And then they waved. The metal plate she stood on began to rise.

* * *

**Seepie Dilox**

**District 3 Female**

* * *

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the red coloring of her shirt and the brown coloring of her jacket being repeated on every tribute as her eyes glanced around. The glasses that sit on her nose would almost be her lifeline, almost. Without those glasses, she was absolutely blind. She could see colors and shapes, but no, she could not see the blade of a sword swiping down on her shoulder, if that were to happen. Her tiny frame, though the oldest of eligible ages, would not be something good. Her small size would hurt her in the long run, even though she was fast and sneaky. In District 3, her time was spent zipping around, in and out of alleyways, into people's houses with them inside, and they never even knew of it. She was a professional thief, a professional thief that stole blueprints of inventions and thoughts of others and handed them into her mother, who took those inventions and made them and called them her own.

But no, that would not help her in the Games. Unless she decided to go and steal from the Careers, which would be a likely possibility.

"Everyone, all Tributes, let it be known that the 35th Hunger Games have no begun!" a voice boomed. There were no voices as the 60 seconds began, but for Seepie, all the voices from back home were in her head. They cheered her on, they mourned her inevitable death, they prayed to a nonexistent God and they laughed at how fearful she was. She had a plan for the Nloodbath, for the moment at which it was, and so she activated that plan.

Her token was a rock, a large rock, and though it took days for it to be accepted as a reasonable token, the lightness and pores in it was the thing that let it pass the panel of Token Inspectors.

But it was still heavy enough.

Nervously, she took the rock from her right pocket and tossed it towards the ground next to boy that stood next to her. She didn't know of him, other than the fact that he was from District 7 and his name was Zackary Maskell. She'd kill Zackary Maskell without any physical contact. Seepie's rock landed on the ground, and as she'd planned, the land mines that were just so sensitive caused an explosion that sent the boy to his death. An arm flew into the air, a head landed on the ground near Seepie, and for a second, she thought her own land mind would explode just like his. A spatter of blood landed on her brown jacket, and a scream erupted from a girl near Seepie. She'd indirectly killed someone, and ironically, the fear that was in her disappeared. There were no rules in the Games, so this was very entertaining for the Capitol, was it not?

The gong rang out, and with the body of the boy next to her, she ran off towards the horn, gleaming ever so brightly in the sunlight. The snow under her feet crunched with each step.

* * *

**Grind Delhomme**

**District 2 Male**

* * *

He was frustrated. Why did he not think of that? He could've did the exact same thing, with the necklace that he had. There was no time to think, though, even though he was never not thinking. His feet ran off of the platform and towards the horn. He was fast, he was large, he was a Career, and he would win. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't win the 35th Annual Hunger Games.

The Arena was cold. No more than 40 degrees, the snow under his feet caused for a slippery entrance into the Bloodbath. The Cornucopia in all of its glory, though, was only aided by the snow, causing the golden metal to attract almost all of the Tributes toward it. Grind had a kill goal, and that number was 3. He would not leave the Cornucopia unless 3 people had died by his hand, and as he reached the Cornucopia first, he waited for all the others. A boy slammed into his back, and although it knocked him off balance, he parried and turned around, shoving the palm of his right hand under the nose of the boy, causing a crunch and a limp body. Blood was on his hand, and he wiped it on the loose black pants that he had on.

He squatted down and picked up a sword and a dagger, the dagger in the left hand while the sword, with the silver handle and brass blade, was gripped in his right hand. As he stood upright, a jab in his hip caused him to drop his dagger, but it didn't stop him from sending the sword in an arch over his head and into the girl's head, slicing down to center of the clavicle, both halves of the head laying on her shoulders as she fell. He had no idea what her name was. "Sorry about that," he said.

Two kills already?

As he looked around, trees circled outward. There seemed to be nothing but trees, except for when he turned around and saw metal poles sticking out of the ground, the first foot or so being hidden by white grass.

* * *

**So... I guess the whole mentioning ceremonies thing didn't work out. This is part 1 of 2 for the bloodbath, and there's... 3 or 4 more deaths to go for the bloodbath. **

**I don't want to be one of those people that nag about Reviews, but I really need them. I'll still write the fic, but it's sort of downgrading when no one tells you what they think of it. **

**But thank you to Rene, for reviewing! 8D**

**AND OMFG ABOUT SEEPIE. I DID NOT KNOW THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.**


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